The Cold Shiver
LADY JOCASTA WAS bathing in the privacy of her quarters, soaking her soft, olive-toned skin in a marble bath of warm water and soapsuds. She dripped water from a natural sponge onto her breasts, relishing the feeling upon her naked skin. It was a welcome opportunity to wash away the humidity that had clung to her flesh ever since she had entered this underground cavern. She was smiling broadly from ear to ear, which for Jocasta was as rare an occurrence as pigs taking flight. For the first time in a long while she allowed herself to relax. Her plan was proceeding nicely, everything was in place, and it was now just a matter of waiting for her time to shine. Baron Remus had left Fantoma for Rome, and Lady Jocasta was secure in the knowledge that she was mistress of all she surveyed.
That, however, was about to change.
A rattling cough alerted her to another's presence in her bathroom, and she nearly leapt out of her skin. The bathwater slopped onto the dry stone floor, as she hid her nudity with her hands as best she could.
An old man stooped in the doorway, supporting his weight on a gnarled, wooden walking cane. A downy coating of white fluff covered the whole of the man's slightly misshapen head. He wore a blue three-quarter-length velvet jacket, with a crisp white shirt and silk cravat tucked into his collar. This man looked as if he was hundreds of years old, and yet his pale green eyes sparkled like finely polished emeralds.
'Sir George?' Jocasta gasped, reaching for her towel. She pulled it tight around her, and it clung to her sopping wet body. 'I…I did not know you were en route!'
'I was in the neighbourhood, so to speak,' said Sir George Dray, in rasping Scottish tones. His eyes pierced into Jocasta, as if burning through the towel itself to view her naked body. 'Didn't disturb you, I hope?'
'No, sir…you did not,' answered Jocasta, somewhat guardedly. 'I trust there is nothing wrong?'
'You tell me, lass,' said Sir George. A thin grin split a seam across his face, and the heavy wrinkles around his mouth parted like curtains of dead flesh. 'So, tell me…where is Adolfo hiding about this wretched place? I'd have thought he would've wanted to greet me himself.'
'You…you were not made aware?' asked Jocasta.
'Aware of what, lass?' asked the Scot.
'The Baron…he is not on site, sir. He is en route to Rome. Some issues arose that required his attention,' said Jocasta, unable to stop her teeth chattering because of the cold – or was it something else? Sir George's unexpected appearance sent a freezing sear up her spine. What was he doing here? And why now? What was Baron Remus playing at, deserting her at this time?
'He's gone to Rome?' asked Dray, flicking his dry tongue around his taut lips like a serpent tasting the air. 'Hmm. That's a pity. I've got some interesting news that I wanted to share with him. Get dressed and meet me in the audience chamber in five minutes, Jocasta. I want you to fill me in on this little project of yours, and I'm keen to learn if you really are as talented as the Baron says.'
Lady Jocasta hastily pulled on a long robe and fastened her dark waves of hair into a long ponytail that draped down her back to tickle the base of her spine. She glanced briefly at her fractious self in the tall, freestanding mirror.
If you do not wish Sir George to see right through you, you had best pull on your mask, Jocasta, she told herself.
A swarm of butterflies fluttered around her stomach as she contemplated facing the old man, one the most senior members of the Hades Consortium's inner stratum, a man but one shade darker than the Devil himself. She cursed Remus for not being there – and then a succession of thoughts struck her.
What if Dray had been informed of his son's death?
And what if he blamed her for the plot in London that led to it?
Had he come to Egypt seeking an explanation from her…or retribution?
There was only one thing she could do. She would hear what the old man had to say, maintain her resolve and deal with the consequences when they came along. Until then, she would remain confident of her plot. With her mind made up, Lady Jocasta rushed as fast as she could to the audience chamber.
Despite her best efforts, she arrived out of breath and anxiously pale. The frail old man was hunched in the comfort of a high-backed chair. His stooped frame melted into the seat's upholstery as if he were an invertebrate sack of skin and bones. Jocasta announced her presence with a cough, and as Sir George Dray craned his neck in her direction, she almost expected to hear a sound like the creaking of a tree's branches.
She lowered her head, and pulled out a chair from the table opposite him. 'I am sorry to keep you waiting, Sir George,' she said.
'I won't hear you all the way over there, lass. Come and sit next to me, I won't bite!' Dray said. His old face, cracked and flaking like brittle plaster, tried its best to entertain a smile. 'Don't look so worried, lass…I'm not here to check up on you! Well, not entirely. I'm just here to tie up a few loose ends. Seeing as I've missed the old wolf, I might as well learn more about this poison plot you've been cooking up…just so there are no surprises…such as the ones we experienced in London a few weeks back, hmm?' He grinned at Jocasta, a grin that sent icecold flames shooting through her veins.
As the old man's green eyes scoured her face, Lady Jocasta felt far more naked than she had done in the bathtub. She prayed that he could not see the nervousness in her demeanour, but it clung to her words nevertheless.
'I understand. I am sure that you will be pleased,' she said.
'We shall see, lass. I've been following your career for some time, ever since Adolfo brought you in,' Dray said, shifting gawkily in his seat. 'The Baron speaks very highly of you. You're confident, strong willed – if a mite too headstrong at times. Eager to please, sometimes at the expense of the bigger picture.' He stared into Jocasta's eyes, and seemed to take for ever to blink. 'But as much as I value the Baron's opinion…I like to make up my own mind. This poison of yours is the one that we obtained in London, I understand. I read your report on the way here, lass. Most thorough…in parts. And you have the stuff in your possession now, correct?'
'Yes, Sir George, and we are sched-'
'Good,' interjected Dray curtly. 'We can begin then. The longer we tarry, the more we open up ourselves to exposure!'
'Exposure, Sir George?' she asked. 'Exposure by what?'
'Don't you mean by whom?' asked the Scotsman. 'We can't afford to risk-'
'But, Sir George, there is no risk. My calculations-'
'Are wrong, Jocasta…trust me,' snapped Dray, waving a shrivelled finger.
'Sir, I can assure you that there is nothing to be concerned about,' Jocasta said.
'Oh, I seriously doubt that.' Sir George licked his dry lips, the sound like crushed autumn leaves underfoot. He leaned closer to Jocasta, close enough for her to smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. 'Our organisation went to a lot of effort to procure that poison and it was not without its losses, so this plan of yours had better pay off. Do I make myself clear, Lady Jocasta?'
Jocasta's nerves were at the point of shattering.
Losses? What did the old man mean by that? Was he referring to the death of his pet psychopath, Renard? Or his son, Oliver? Or was it just her paranoia tainting everything? She was seeing ghosts everywhere, hearing undertones of mistrust in every syllable. Every word was layered with an accusatory edge, as if the old man was trying to force a confession out of her.
'Sir George, this plan is not like London,' she said. 'Renard was unhinged! He refused to be reined in. My project is not reliant upon the fragile constraints of just one man.'
'Or woman?' said Sir George, eyeing her with a dull flicker in his eyes.
'Sir, my plan will be a success!' Jocasta insisted. 'I will make sure of it.'
'Aye, lass…I'm sure you will,' said Dray. 'You'll have to excuse me being jumpy. I'm a product of the old days, you see. More comfortable with the twist of a blade…the feel of a pistol in my hand…the smell of gunpowder.'
'With respect, sir…the old ways are gone,' said Jocasta. 'As I am constantly reminding the Baron, the Hades Consortium must learn to adapt if we are to retain our position of dominance.'
'The pupil becomes the teacher, eh?' sniggered Dray, as he pushed himself up awkwardly from his chair. 'Now I need to rest, lass. I've had a long journey from Rawalpindi and my back's giving me gip.' With a brief nod, he shuffled away from the table, back up the stone steps towards an archway into the shadowed caverns. At the top of the steps, he snapped his fingers. 'And make sure I am kept apprised of any problems that may arise whilst I sleep…especially any unwanted visitors that might show up at our door. A fly can drop into the ointment at any time…especially this particular fly.'